


Confluence of Peril

by NeedTheDark



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Drugs, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4393643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeedTheDark/pseuds/NeedTheDark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Elizabeth Keen is a risky business. Being the man who protects her is harder than he ever imagined. A series of Lizzington shorts/one shots around the theme of peril. Various ratings, but mostly M for violence and adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Dearest shippers - there are so many delicious prompts and scenarios out there, I decided to put some together inspired by Red's confluence of peril speech. Most but not all rated M as adult themes abound. I own nothing.

When Red and Dembe entered the lab, weapons drawn, the chemist was there with his arm across Lizzie’s neck. Something wasn’t right; she wasn’t struggling and her head was rolled to the side, her hair across her face. The moment the chemist spotted them he turned and reached for his weapon. As he did so, she slipped from his grasp to the floor and Red didn’t hesitate to take the head shot. He moved quickly towards the body of the chemist, kicking his gun away and delivering a second shot to the heart. He knelt beside Lizzie on the floor, relieved to find that she was awake, if disoriented.

He reached into his pocket and removed a cloth handkerchief, gently wiping the blood spatter from her face. “Hello Lizzie”. His smile faded into a frown of concern as he registered that she was having trouble focusing on him, and breathing hard. “Lizzie…Lizzie look at me. Did he give you something?”

She groaned and nodded before slurring “he stuck me with something. Don’t know what it was. Feels like the world’s swaying.”

“Ok sweetheart, it’s going to be ok. Just sit tight a second.” Red rose to his feet and scanned the floor and counter tops. He quickly apprehended an empty syringe on the floor and a single vial on the counter. He read the label before slipping the bottle into his jacket pocket and kneeling back down next to her.

“The good news is you’re going to be just fine, the bad news is you’re in for quite a trip I’m afraid. Do you think you can stand up?”

She nodded and he took both her hands in his, helping her to her feet. They walked slowly from the building with Dembe covering them ahead, and Red supporting most of her weight. She moaned as they walked out into the harsh glare of sunlight. Red sneaked his fingers to her wrist and confirmed that her pulse was racing. “Ok sweetheart, it’s straight to hospital for you.”

“No way. I’ll be fine, just tell Cooper what happened and take me home please.”

Red shook his head in a no-nonsense kind of way. “If by ‘home’, you mean you want me to take you to whatever dingy motel room you’re staying in this week and leave you there under the influence of a powerful drug, completely helpless, you can forget it.”

“Red!”

“Absolutely not. You have two choices Lizzie. You can go to hospital, or you can come with me to a safe place where you can sleep it off and I’ll have Mr Kaplan check you over. The second option involves less paperwork.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I just need to lie down. The floor is moving.” She giggled suddenly. “And I’m starting to see some pretty crazy colors. Ones I bet even you haven’t seen.”

“Oh you’d be surprised” he said dryly. “Get in the car Lizzie.” He opened the door for her and helped her inside, buckling her seat belt carefully before coming round to join her in the back.

Once they were on the move she looked up at him, wide-eyed with a broad grin on her face. “This is kind of amazing!” For a moment her face seemed to change to one of utter adoration. “You’re amazing.”

He reached into a cabinet in the back and removed a bottle of water, undoing the cap and holding it to her lips. “Drink.”

“Oh my God yes, I’m so thirsty!” She tried to clutch at the bottle but ended knocking it so that it spilled down her top. He grabbed her flailing hand gently and kept the bottle at her mouth until she had finished gulping down the cool water.

“Thanks” she mumbled.

He set the bottle down and turned to look at her, just in time to see her eyes close and her head roll to the side against the seat.

“You’re welcome.”

When they arrived at the safe house she came round just as Dembe was carrying her up the stairs to a bedroom, disoriented, confused and combative. Downstairs Red smiled in spite of himself listening to Mr Kaplan and Dembe trying calm her down while she yelled incoherently. After a while he walked to the bottom of the stairs in time to see Mr Kaplan emerge from the bedroom with a grim expression on her face and a plastic bottle in her hand. He grinned at her.

“I’m glad you think this is funny Raymond. The poor girl has been drugged to the eyeballs – she’s so freaked she won’t stay still long enough for me to start an IV. We’ve got to get fluids in her somehow – I’ve tried to get her to drink this instead, but that isn’t working either.”

Red nodded and walked up the stairs. “Give it to me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

When he entered she was sitting in the middle of the bed, clutching at the covers.

“Red! That insect woman was trying to stick me!”

He laughed hard at that and then tried to collect himself. “I promise no more needles Lizzie.”

“Good! Now come here – you have to feel this, it’s soooooo soft.”

Red swallowed. “I’ll do you a deal. I’ll come over there if you’ll drink this for me.” He held up the bottle containing Mr Kaplan’s solution.

“Yes!” she laughed happily, punching the air.

He climbed gingerly on the bed and she scooted over to him snuggling herself under his arm. “Lizzie – drink.” He held the bottle to her mouth and she drank obediently, her massive eyes never leaving his face. Her pupils were like saucers. He put the bottle down and she continued staring at his face, her expression full of wonder.

He chuckled as she reached up with her hand and began touching his face, brushing her thumb over his eyelashes, his nose and mouth.

“You’re beautiful Raymond” she said suddenly. And then giggled at her use of his first name. “Ray-mond” she said again, trying it out. “I love you.” She sighed. “I’m so in love with you.”

And he stopped laughing then. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound of her girlish giggles, his heart breaking at the thought that he would doubtless never hear her say those words to him again. He stayed with her for hours after that, trying to smile when she laughed, holding her, and comforting her until the worst passed and she eventually fell into a deep sleep.

She woke when he returned to check on her, sitting up and clutching her head.

“Oh God, I feel _horrible_.”

“Let me get you some water.” He walked to the bedside table but she reached over and grabbed the bottle herself.

“It’s fine I can do it. I’m so sorry about all of this, really. I...I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

He looked down at her but she seemed determined not to meet his eye.

“No Lizzie. Nothing at all.”


	2. Red is a Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always cries her name in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A darker one, rated M for violence. You've been warned. As ever, not mine.

Red watched as the white floor tiles beneath him warped in and out of focus. _Detached retina? Or just kicked in the head one too many times._ He could see dark red spots jumping on the ground, hitting the floor and bouncing. A wet feeling on his cheek; a metallic taste in his mouth. _Red. Red for blood. For danger._ His cornflower blue stripe shirt picked up in Oxford last year was ripped and soaked. _It was a little garish anyway. Boarding schools and Teddy boys._ Hands chained above his head, his shoulders screamed when he sagged. Another blow to his kidneys. _Be pissing blood for a week. Mr Kaplan won’t be happy_. Another blow.

“Why don’t you try aiming a little lower?” Red’s voice was imperious, and echoed round the windowless tiled room. Rooms like this one were not good. “That’s what you really want isn’t it? To spank my ass?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning him an eye-watering punch in the jaw. He spat blood onto the floor, watched as the spray made patterns on the tiles. _Red for pain_.

“I don’t know you, therefore I’m reasonably confident that you were hired for this job by someone else.” He chuckled but it came out as more of a bloody cough. “So you mustn’t take it personally when I inevitably kill you”.

A hand on his shoulder then, for leverage, before a punch landed squarely at his groin. He blinked the tears from his eyes, a hissing noise the only sound he made. _Red for lust. It’s a miracle the equipment still works after years of this_.

“If you’re going to punch a man in the gonads you should at least introduce yourself first…Nothing? Well I can talk enough for the two of us, I’m sure you’re aware of that, although it’s highly doubtful that I’ll say anything you want to hear.”

A pull on a lever and the chain raised a fraction higher, the tips of Italian calf-leather brogues now only just meeting the floor, slipping on his own blood. _They’ll have to go too. Shame. What the hell is that?_

It turned out to be an electric cattle prod. Very unfortunate, but unsurprising there’d be one to hand, it being a disused slaughterhouse. He stopped talking after that.

 _Electric shock is not good for the heart. The heart is unpredictable. In different ways it’s both the strongest and the weakest organ. Break my mind and I’ll put the pieces back together; even disordered fragments can clothe a withered soul. Break my heart… break my heart. Red is the color of love_.

“Lizzie.”

He always cried her name in the end.


	3. Dislocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the stewmaker, Red rescues Liz and she calls him a monster. In Luther Braxton he rescues her and she screams at him to leave her alone. They may be on the run together, but not much has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lizzington fun. Disclaimed as always.

Red watched as she took down her assailant with ease, knocking his punch sideways and bringing her fist up under his nose in a way that made even Red wince. She was magnificent. He had never expected that they would be ambushed, otherwise he would never have come with Liz without backup to this draughty warehouse. It was too dangerous, especially now that they were on the run and her profile was still so high. He would have to keep her better hidden from now on, he thought.

But the truth was, however much he wanted to protect her, she was more than capable of holding her own; shrewd, adaptable and with decent combat skills that he wanted to help her improve. FBI training can only go so far. She would, unfortunately, have to learn that in some cases you not only _should_ kick a man when he is down, but make sure he was never up in the first place. 

He saw a shadow in his peripheral vision and spun round quickly, shooting his would be attacker in the kneecap and then, when he saw the man reach for his gun, in the head. His reaction time had been off; he had to admit he had been distracted watching Liz in action. He heard her cry out behind him and turned back in time to see her face down on the floor, a brute of a man twisting her arm behind her back.

He didn’t hesitate to shoot the man in the head, killing him instantly. He did a quick 180 checking that they’d taken out the last of their assailants, before kneeling beside her. She hadn’t cried out again but he could hear her breathing hard, and see that her teeth were buried in her bottom lip with the effort of keeping quiet. 

“Stay still, let me have a look at you.” He turned her gently on her side and gingerly slid her jacket off, causing her to whimper a little. He didn’t need to touch her to know that her right shoulder was dislocated; the top of her arm was a tell-tale square shape and she was doing a valiant job of trying not to scream.

He moved round so that she could see him, giving her a gentle smile. “Ok, it’s a dislocated shoulder. You wouldn’t believe the number of times this has happened to me; smarts like hell but easily dealt with.” Then he noted her palm turning a dusky color and his previously jovial tone turned serious for a moment. “Sweetheart, you’re losing blood flow to your arm – I’m afraid we are going to have to reduce it here. This is going to hurt.”

“Just do it quickly Reddington” she said through clenched teeth.

He rolled gently her on her back and knelt beside her on one knee, arranging her arm at a 90 degree angle at her side. He did his best to distract her as he worked to get her in position. “There’s a trick to surviving difficult situations like this one, Lizzie – find a special place in your mind, far away, that makes you feel peaceful and happy – I always find myself returning to the Piazza del Campo, a smooth bottle of Valpolicella Classico over a rich Mediterranean sunset, brilliant reds and oranges-” 

At that moment he grasped her wrist tightly and rotated her arm sharply upwards. She screamed in agony as it popped back into place, breathing hard through tears as he flexed her arm to check the reduction had been successful. 

“There, all done. Feel better?”

She nodded mutely, her face pale. He reached for her good arm to help her up.

“Out of interest, what did you think of Lizzie? Where’s your special place?”

She paused before answering, her voice low and sweet. “You remember the King family? The auction?” 

He looked at her earnestly and nodded.

“You were tied up on display and they were going to sell you to the highest bidder.” She spoke in honey tones.

“I remember, Lizzie. Did you think of the time you saved me from Yabari? I think of that moment often myself.”

“No, Red…I thought I should have bought you myself so I could enjoy shoving your shoulder back in without anaesthesia whilst babbling at you about wine and fucking sunsets!”

He guffawed with laughter. “Touché Lizzie, Touché.


	4. The Playboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red hides critical information from Liz about their latest blacklister, the playboy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a facebook prompt and an episode of criminal minds. Canon-style drama/Lizzington. I've wanted to find a way to get sign language into a fic for a while! As ever, not mine.

Liz rolled her eyes. "The Playboy? What's he done to piss you off, party too hard?"

Red's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, the name does make him sound rather innocuous. It's like the gangs of so-called raskals that plague the streets of Vanuatu – the name makes them sound like adorable rogues. The reality is they're violent thugs; rapists and murderers who make the streets a living hell. Don't be deceived Lizzie – the playboy is calculating, sadistic and driven by greed. He profits from people's most depraved desires. He's a broker. Whatever – or in this case, whomever- his customers want, he procures."

"You mean women?"

"Men, women and children. He abducts to order then auctions off the targets to start a bidding war. It's why your profiling brethren haven't picked up on a pattern – the only thing that links his victims is that someone out there is willing to pay for them. He's responsible for kidnapping and selling hundreds of victims many of whom were later killed by an assortment of nefarious people."

"Right, where do I start?"

"You don't, not this time. This really is a job for agent Ressler – it's time Donald and I got to know each other a little better."

Liz frowned. "All year you've insisted you'll only work with me - what's so different about this case?"

Red looked uncomfortable for a moment, a deviation from his typically confident demeanor. Liz filed it away in her head for future reference.

"I'm sorry Lizzie, but do you have any idea how much a young, female FBI agent is worth in this sort of market?"

Liz grimaced in disgust. "We've worked dangerous cases before – there hasn't been a blacklister who wouldn't have killed us in a heartbeat. I don't get what makes this different."

He patted her arm. "The key to finding this man is his online activity – your talents would be best used working with Aram. Find out where he's been, who his customers are, and how he finds victims who match the profiles he's been given."

She sighed. "Fine, but if I need to go into the field I will."

Red turned on her, and suddenly seemed to be standing extremely close, his eyes flashing. "You listen to me. You will remain within the four walls of this building until this man is brought in, do you understand?"

Liz frowned. She had no idea what had got him so worked up but it was interesting to watch. She nodded. "What do you get out of this anyway?"

Red smiled innocently. "Isn't it enough to take a depraved broker of human life off the streets?"

Liz raised an eyebrow. "You never do anything unless there's something in it for you."

"Fair enough. Now that you come to mention it I would be interested in a copy of a list of the Playboy's customers. A small price to pay for delivering such a high value target, I think."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

The next day, Red arrived at the black site in time to overhear Ressler's complaint - "Damn, Keen's not picking up her cell."

"I assume a government run facility manages to have an operational telephone line or two" Red said sarcastically. "She can't be far Donald, this place isn't nearly as large or complex as you'd like to think."

Ressler bristled. "Reddington. She's not on site. Aram pulled up an address for a property rented under an alias – it could be our guy. She went to check it out."

Red stiffened. "Was I not completely clear when I said that Agent Keen shouldn't be in the field on this one?"

"She has backup. And get over yourself – first you want her in the field, then you don't. You don't get to dictate how we run our cases-"

He stopped mid-sentence as Red approached him with eyes like fire. "I will do exactly that, and with good reason. She isn't just a typical high value target for the Playboy – he wants her, specifically. I brought you this case because someone out there is very interested in procuring Agent Keen."

Ressler's phone rang. "Ressler…What?...Oh hell" He looked at Red apprehensively. "That was local law enforcement - that address I told you about… they were ambushed. Keen's gone. It's been over an hour."

Red's eyes flashed for a moment. He strode over to Aram and put his hands menacingly on the desk. "Agent Mojtabai – where are we on accessing the auction facility?"

Aram looked up nervously from his computer. "Running the code as we speak Mr Reddington, I'll be in… now. I've got it." Red and Ressler stood behind him as he scrolled down through photographs of people, bidding open. "It's her!" He pointed at a photograph of Liz. He clicked on her profile and pulled up the photographs. The first few were head and full length shots of her in her FBI vest. "Oh God." As he scrolled down the page more photographs came into view. She'd been stripped and photographed meticulously as though she were a car someone had put on craigslist.

Aram went to close the photographs but Red stopped him. "Wait. Pull up that one."

"For God's sake" Ressler spat. "That's my partner and I'm not about to let you look at her like that you sick bastard."

Red ignored him and started flicking through the photos, his brow furrowed. "I'm less concerned about her privacy than about getting her back. Look at her hand." He pointed to one of the pictures, flicked to the next one and pointed again.

Aram swallowed and flicked through the set quickly. "It looks like ASL – sign language. We can't assume the pictures were posted in the order that they were taken…north east…and possibly part of a zip code…

Ressler pushed off from the table. "The auction was posted less than an hour after she was taken – Aram, pull up a map showing the location she was taken, factor in travel time and time to take the pictures, and cross reference with the info you can get from the photos. That ought to narrow down a grid search."

Aram typed furiously. "Ok, I have it - I'll get teams out right away." He turned to Reddington but he was already gone.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Dembe broke the lock on door to the backroom of the factory; he went to move ahead but was halted by Red's arm. "I'll take it from here. Cover the entrance." Red moved through the narrow, windowless room, noting the empty cages stacked against the walls. He could see that just one was occupied, at the back. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness, like a beacon for him to follow. He saw her head turn sharply when she heard him approach.

"It's me Lizzie, you're ok."

"Please tell me you brought some clothes."

"In the car. Here-" He removed his coat and passed it to her through the bars of the cage. He worked studiously on opening the lock while she slid her arms into the sleeves and wrapped it around herself.

"The Playboy?"

"Dead." Red's tone was neutral but she saw the fire in his eyes as he helped her out of the cage. She pulled his coat tightly around herself, grateful for his penchant for voluminous cashmere.

As they walked silently to the exit, Liz noted that the factory floor was littered with bodies. Red had spared no-one. On the way she paused and turned to him. "The photos…did everyone see?" It was almost a whisper.

Red looked at her square on for the first time since he entered the factory. "They saw what I saw: an extraordinary display of intelligence and ingenuity under the most difficult circumstances." She managed a small smile, and for a moment they stood in silence amongst the bodies.

Then Red steered her towards the exit, his usual chatter returning. "ASL – ingenious. You know I once knew a deaf woman in Ohio, absolutely deadly – you couldn't get a thing past her…" Liz smiled to herself as they made their way to the car.


	5. Bad Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Liz pull a sting operation, but Red has a surprise in store for Liz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinky Lizzington cop fun. I tried to resist the cop pictures… I tried and failed. As ever, not mine.

**5\. Bad Cop**

Liz watched as Red sat down on the bed of the dingy one-bedroom apartment that would be the site of what he referred to as their little sting operation. He seemed strangely unperturbed by the brown water marks on the walls, and the sickening smell of grease from the restaurant below. What did bother him, it seemed, was the uniform that he himself had insisted be their disguise, despite Liz's protestations.

"While I don't hold the Metro PD in particularly high regard, it's frankly inhumane to require anyone to suffer this cheap polyester getup day in and day out. You know, perhaps this explains the high levels of police brutality complaints in DC."

He ran his finger around the starched collar before undoing the first two buttons, revealing a pristine white undershirt.

She rolled her eyes. "We have bigger problems. The Troll Hunter isn't just some teenage computer geek messing with their local paper – he's organised with some serious equipment, and he's targeting every one of the journalists you enlisted to expose the cabal. Without them we have no way of fighting back. We need Aram. We need the taskforce." Her voice quavered a little.

Red had been unusually quiet for the past couple of days since their flight, speaking to her only to provide instructions. They were wasting no time. They would continue hunting blacklisters, he said, this time focusing exclusively on those who would further their plan of exposing the director and those with interests in his clandestine organisation.

He had barely looked at her since their flight, but now he raised his eyes to her and allowed the guilt to come in. Because of him she had lost everything she cared about, the job she worked for years to get, and now he was taunting her, dressing her in this costume which made a mockery of her fall from grace from the higher echelons of law enforcement. Despite it all, she had held it together well, but as he looked at her now he could tell she was wavering; her badge was glittering as her chest rose and fell with quickening breathing and her eyes were filled with doubt.

He rose from the bed and approached her. He raised his hand to pat her on the arm. "Lizzie, I know this is…difficult. You don't have the taskforce, but you have me, and I have survived in this world for many years. Now let's focus on the task at hand – it might even be fun." His eyes twinkled.

He nodded towards the laptop on the table. "Right now the Troll Hunter is scanning that hard drive, and when he's through someone will be on their way here to eliminate Washington's latest underground blogging sensation – you." He handed her a duffle bag from the bed. "Now get changed quickly and make sure you hide the uniform. You're not a cop tonight Lizzie - you're a criminal." She frowned at him – it was so fleeting she wasn't sure she'd seen it at all…had he just winked at her?

She took the bag silently and went into the bathroom. "You still haven't told me why we had to dress like this or how this is going to play out" she said huffily through the door. "So what, he comes here to kill me and you get him first?"

Red slid his fingers between the dusty blinds of the window, watching the street below. "Not quite, Lizzie. The Troll Hunter isn't going to come here himself – we need a way to lure him out."

Liz emerged from the bathroom in ripped black jeans and a tank top, a frown on her face. "And just how are you planning to do that?"

He continued to watch the street intently. "Simple, Lizzie. We need to present a challenge worthy of his talents."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Which is?"

He turned to her then, with a small smile on his lips. "You're going to get arrested."

"WHAT? No! Red, that's insane-"

He looked back through the blinds. "Showtime" he said, and she thought for a moment that she could detect a hint of enjoyment in his voice.

They heard footsteps on the stairs and, panicked, she turned towards the door. Red was behind her in a heartbeat, grasping her wrists together behind her back. She allowed her instinct to take over, kicking him in the shin and wrenching her arms free.

"Calm down ma'am, you're in enough trouble as it is." Red didn't seem at all bothered by her escape attempt. Anger flared insider her and she turned around to shove him. He deflected easily before slipping his foot in front of her, taking her deftly to the floor. She recognized the move; it was academy 101 – taking down a combative suspect whilst causing them minimal harm. He knelt gently over the backs of her knees and handcuffed her, while she lay there speechless.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney – if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Have you understood these rights as I've explained them?"

Liz was filled with rage as she listened to his imperious voice reading her her rights. There was no doubt that he was enjoying this. She began to respond "FUC-" but at that moment the door opened and a man in his thirties appeared. Apart from a slightly worn leather jacket, the assassin looked entirely harmless.

Red looked up sternly. "Sir, do you know this woman?"

The man blinked at him. "Um…no – sorry officer, I must have the wrong apartment."

Red nodded, before dragging Liz to her feet, her hands cuffed behind her back. "Then I'm going to have to ask you to move along now please – I'm sure you want to avoid obstructing an arrest."

The man nodded and stepped back into the corridor. Red walked Liz out of the apartment, chatting loudly. "Right you are ma'am, let's get you booked in down town. On the way you can tell me what a 'blogger' is anyway – I'm rather out of touch."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Red walked an infuriated Liz out of the building to their police cruiser. To her horror, he opened the back door and ushered her in, placing his hand on the top of her head as per procedure. As they cleared the area she caught his eye in the mirror, enough to see the crinkle round his eyes as he smiled in amusement. She kicked the cage between the front and back of the car emphatically.

"You are _unbelievable!_ You're not actually taking me to the precinct?!"

"Heavens no – we just needed your would-be assassin to think that's where you're being taken. The Troll Hunter is subtle and efficient. There's no way his people would risk taking out a cop, especially as he would have assumed I'd have back up. No, he's going to try to get to you on the inside. That's how we'll track him down."

"And you couldn't share any of this with me?" Liz spat.

Red smiled at her in the mirror. "I find spontaneous performances to be the most convincing, don't you?" His tone was infuriatingly smug. "Besides, I highly doubt you would have agreed to let me handcuff you…"

"You're damn right I wouldn't! Now pull over and take these things off me now!"

Red chuckled loudly. "Oh I would Lizzie, but I think I'll have to wait for you to calm down first. I've seen what you're capable of when you're angry with me."

Liz landed another thunderous kick on the cage behind his head. "You haven't seen anything yet!"

Red smiled at her in the mirror. "Now, now…settle down, _ma'am_."

The End.


	6. Sacred Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dark little one-shot written a while ago and revived by discussions of what it might be like if Liz went over to the dark side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally AU, nice and bleak so don’t read if you need Lizzington fluff tonight. You’ve been warned! Disclaimed, majorly disclaimed. Don’t hate me.

When Red entered the house he was greeted by sombre looking Dembe. They hugged. He removed his hat and coat, placing them neatly on a chair, folding his coat with more care than he might usually have taken.

_Prolonging the inevitable._

He glanced towards the closed dining room door. The silence was disconcerting. He turned back as Dembe began to speak.

"Raymond, I'm sorry my friend. There was no easy way to tell you. It is now certain."

_It was certain from the day that we ran. She had to change._

"She is working with the people who took your daughter. The information used to locate Jennifer was sent from a laptop found in her hotel room. The calls were also made from a burn phone in the same location." He paused, and Red nodded, his expression blank.

_When the light becomes the dark, there is nothing left to cast a shadow of doubt._

Dembe looked at the floor for a moment. "This is the only lead we have. If we are to find Jennifer we will need to know who she passed the information to, if she met with them and where." He paused again, and Red knew what he was going to say.

_The logical thing to do._

"Would you like me to call Mr Brimley?" Dembe finished, his discomfort evident.

Red stared at the door of the dining room for a moment. "No. I'll handle it personally."

_Let that be the punishment for my failure._

"I thought this would end differently" Dembe said mournfully.

Red looked at his friend for a moment. "Nothing in this world is sacred."

_Not anymore._

He straightened his vest and tie, before opening the dining room door and closing it carefully behind him.

Elizabeth Keen was in the center of the room, tied to one of the tasteless gothic dining chairs. A respectful distance away, a table had been prepared with instruments laid out neatly. A standard set of scalpels arranged in order of size, several syringes of different gauges still in their packets and accompanying vials, and a leather case, which he recognized. Were he to choose to open it, he would find it contained cuffs of varying sizes designed to deliver an electrical current to pulse points throughout the subject's body.

_The subject._

He forced himself to look at her. Her eyes were the same brilliant blue, he noted, but they had grown so hard. It had been a punishing five years. He could have saved her from anyone. Anyone except herself.

_Anyone except me._

She gave him a cold stare, still challenging.

He returned her gaze calmly. Accepting. Evolving, again. He slowly removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

_No, nothing is sacred._


	7. This Changes Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red sees Lizzie in a whole new light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Major smut ahead, NSFW, strong language and minor drug use. Please do not read if any of these things offends you. You have been warned. As ever, I don't own the blacklist, I just really enjoy using the characters.

Red's fingers tapped on the arm of his chair for several seconds before he realized what he was doing and stilled himself. It didn't really matter – he was alone and there was no one to see him fidgeting. It was, however, a bad habit that betrayed weakness. Distraction. He'd been at this for hours now. The images of Elizabeth Keen and her treacherous, shitbag husband flashed across the screen in front of him as they had every night since he'd obtained the apple man's surveillance footage of their house. He had to watch it; he needed to know what the enemy knew and what they were looking for, and he couldn't trust any of his associates not to miss something important.

It was an individual talent of his, spotting the minutest detail, the out-of-the-ordinary… but goddam, the truth was that their lives were so ordinary it was giving him cramp. He grudgingly had to hand it to Tom Keen - the man was a master of deception. His boring, dutiful husband act was nauseatingly well executed. _Why_ , he found himself thinking. Why would someone of Tom Keen's obvious talent want to give up the life he had as an operative to live like this for years?

 _For love_ , apparently, Red sneered to himself. He'd seen the way they made love on the recording – it was hardly worth living life as a beleaguered grade school teacher. It was pedestrian to say the least, and certainly embarrassing to watch. Seeing Sam's little girl like that, however infrequently it seemed to occur, made him feel a bit perverted. He'd briefly wondered how she had settled for this, but pushed the thought from his mind. To him she would remain the sweet girl in the photographs Sam sent at Christmas, the one thing he had in his life that was innocent. The one thing he had managed to protect. He didn't need to see her under the covers, with Tom Keen fumbling ineptly like a kid in junior high.

It had been strange enough seeing her walk down those steps for the first time at the black site. He knew what she looked like of course - he had pictures from almost every year of her life since she was four years old – but seeing her in person had thrilled him in a way he wasn't expecting. He put it down to the adrenaline of the situation; after all, being chained up in the presence of any beautiful woman would be more than enough to peak his interest. And she _was_ beautiful…

Red shook himself mentally and tried to focus on the footage. She seemed small and dejected today, her shoulders drooping as she leaned over the kitchen counter. He hated seeing her so miserable. He could see that she was holding a note in her hand, but couldn't read it. From the way she tossed it aside after studying it he guessed that Tom Keen wasn't coming home that night. Things were not good between them. Good. The sooner she saw him for what he was, the better.

He ran a hand over his face. It was going to be a long night. He felt a pang of guilt about invading her privacy when watching her when she was alone at home, a concern that evaporated whenever Tom Keen was there playing house like a choirboy. What a clusterfuck. He watched idly as she removed her jacket and tossed it on a chair. _Slovenly_ , he thought with a twitch of his lip. Her heels met a similar fate, left on the floor by the table. She padded back to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack. _Probably some undrinkable plonk_. She began to work the corkscrew and he got up from his seat, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch before returning to the screen.

He returned to see that she had vacated the downstairs area, and he switched to the upstairs footage. She was in their bedroom now and had removed her blouse, leaving her in her bra and suit pants. Wine glass in hand, she opened a box on the nightstand and removed something. He leaned closer, and watched as she raised it to her lips, lighter in hand. It was a joint. His mouth curved involuntarily into a small smile. _So_. That rebellious side that Sam had fretted about was still in there somewhere. This was getting interesting.

He watched as she held the joint between her lips while she removed her pants. She flopped down on the bed in her bra and panties, and took a sip of wine, holding the joint nimbly between her slender fingers. There was now no doubt; under those detestable pant suits, Elizabeth Keen was hiding a sublime, and extremely grown up body. The peachy curve of her ass in those French-style panties was delectable. He bit the inside of his cheek and debated skipping ahead in the footage. It was unlikely that this would yield any information pertaining to the people monitoring her house. He took another sip of scotch.

She placed the joint in a dish on the nightstand and took another sip from her glass, before allowing her free hand to rest on her stomach, her fingers moving in little circles on her bare skin. Red frowned a little. He had a good idea of what he was about to see and he really didn't want to – it felt terribly wrong to watch Sam's girl like this. It was one thing watching her in bed under the covers with her imposter husband; he'd managed to say objective, if a little disgusted for that. But this…

She took another sip of wine, her hand moving to her breasts encased in black lace that matched her panties. He watched as her fingers stroked and pinched her nipples through the lace and he thought fleetingly over what it would be like to cup her round breasts in his large hands, of whether they would fit in his palm. _Fuck_. He was hard. He needed to skip past this, or better yet call it a night before his imagination went places it had no business to go.

He leaned forward to turn off the player, but stopped as he saw her hand slip inside her panties. He watched, frozen as her fingers worked slowly up and down, her eyes now closed in enjoyment. She took another sip of wine and spilled a drop which rolled down her chin and onto her chest. He would lick that right up, he thought. He would taste and tease the path of the drop before moving down the planes of her body, dipping into her navel as he removed her panties, and then slipping his tongue between her wet folds…

He'd definitely gone too far now. He suddenly wanted to see all of her, to put his hot mouth on her sweet pussy and taste her, lathe her with his tongue. God she had such a sour temperament most of the time, he wanted to tongue fuck her until she screamed his name. Without thinking, he reached down and unzipped his pants, freeing his aching length and palming himself slowly in long, even strokes.

As if she could hear him think, she wriggled her hips and pushed down her panties until they were wrapped around her thighs, leaving her mound exposed and his view of her activities totally unobstructed. His cock twitched in his hand as she returned her fingers to her center, sliding them inside herself before moving them to her clit, working in sweet little circles.

He felt his balls tighten and slid his thumb over the weeping head of his cock, his pace becoming more erratic. _God he was going to come so fucking hard, so fast – what the hell was he doing?_ He watched helplessly as the girl on the screen raised her hips off the bed, fucking herself on her own fingers, her mouth open in a silent 'O' of orgasm as she ground herself against her hand. He groaned audibly as he worked his cock through those final sweet spasms, spilling into his hand and swearing as he soiled his shirt cuffs.

 _Well, this changes things._ He sat there in shock while Elizabeth Keen reached nonchalantly for her wine glass, a blissful expression on her face. After a few moments he picked up his scotch, and raised the glass in a silent toast to her image on the screen before drinking. _Yes. This changes everything._


	8. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy, dye-job insecurity, smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Liz fic from a Lizzington Shippers prompt – thanks to SomeLikeItHot! Sorry it took so long to get round to this. WARNING: Oh so very NSFW – if you don't like smut, don't read. Disclaimed as ever. Reviews welcome :-)

Liz stood in front of the bathroom mirror studying her reflection with a mixture of awe and trepidation. It was bold – the lightest her hair had ever been before was when she'd had those 'Baltimore' highlights that Red had referred to. Her eyes looked warmer somehow. It was strange showering knowing that Red was in the next room. The bathroom door was locked of course, but she doubted that such a trivial detail would matter to him if the occasion required an urgent response. She'd half expected him to burst in on her, to say they'd been found, that they needed to leave.

They'd gone from a professional relationship defined by the formality of his many layers and her badge to…something else. His suits were gone, replaced by slacks and shirts unbuttoned at the collar. They'd slept in the same house, although she had yet to see any evidence of him actually sleeping – the previous night he had been settled in the living room when she'd gone to bed, and he had been standing over the coffee maker in the kitchen when she'd emerged in the morning.

She pulled on a black lace cami and looked back to her hair in the mirror. She'd twisted the ends into a pretty curl as she'd dried it. She didn't want to think about why she'd done that – why did it matter what he thought of it? As he'd pointed out when he'd handed her the home dye kit, it was just a necessary part of keeping a low profile, nothing more.

There was a soft knock at the door. "Lizzie? Are you alright?"

Her stomach knotted a little at the sound of his voice. "I'm fine. Um…" She took one last look in the mirror and reached out to open the door. She stepped back and regarded him nervously. "What do you think?"

His eyes widened fractionally and he rolled his tongue as if formulating a response. "Well… that will do nicely."

She would have been offended were it not for the way he said it, which was rather breathily and with another roll of his tongue that sent an unexpected jolt straight through her abdomen.

"I'll let you finish up" he said abruptly and closed the door behind him.

 _What was that?_ Perhaps he didn't like it – after all he had complimented her on her natural dark hair when they first met. But then again, she felt that something had just passed between them and was surprised to find that she enjoyed it. Yes. Something had definitely changed, at least in the way she was thinking about him. Her inner psychologist warned that she was likely to feel attracted to him now that her life was in tatters and she was reliant on him. But the hair… the hair was making her bold. She decided to offer to cook for him tonight. He wouldn't expect that. They could open a bottle of wine and at least talk, at least give her the opportunity to figure out what the hell it was she was feeling.

She exited the bathroom and went to find him in the kitchen. "I thought I'd cook for us tonight. You've been sorting everything out so I want to do something. Not that my cooking is a great way to say thank you…" she trailed off, hoping he would step in.

He looked at her with a slight frown on his face before smiling and answering her breezily. "I'd love to Lizzie, but alas I won't be here tonight. I'm having dinner with a contact. She could prove to be very useful to us."

Liz tried to quell the disappointment settling in her gut. "Who is she?"

"Anahita Salehi." He wrapped his tongue around the name like it was a delicious sweet.

Liz's raised her eyebrows. "As in Paul Von Essen's wife? Her husband's the media mogul?"

Red frowned slightly. "Yes, although I doubt she would enjoy being referred to as Paul's wife – she's an extraordinarily shrewd and successful business women in her own right. That, and they recently divorced."

Liz blushed, feeling both annoyed and ashamed. Of course Red would know someone like that. Of course he would rather have dinner with an _'extraordinarily shrewd and successful business woman'_ than her. How did he know they were divorced? It wasn't common knowledge as far as she knew. Perhaps his interest in this woman was more than just as a contact.

"And how exactly is she going to help us?" Her comment came out more icily than she'd planned but if Red noticed he didn't show it, merely smiling enigmatically.

"Anahita has multiple…talents… that I may need to exploit at some point in the future."

Liz felt an unpleasant pang in her gut. Whatever that moment had been in the bathroom she had totally misread it. Or perhaps he was just like that with all women whether he was interested or not. She thought back to the many women he'd flirted with during their different cases.

"Right" she said sardonically. "Well enjoy yourself." On her way out she added "I won't wait up" in the hopes that he would reassure her that he would be home, but she was disappointed.

"That's probably best" she heard him say.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Red watched as she flounced out of the kitchen, her newly blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders and reflecting the light as she moved. After she was gone he turned and griped his hands against the counter until his knuckles turned white. He needed to get a handle on himself. That moment in the bathroom had been too close for comfort – he'd barely been able to conceal his reaction. She was stunning.

He'd been aware for some time that his feelings towards her had become… complicated. He had no right whatsoever to think of her in that way. No right to do anything other than care for her and guide her. She was totally reliant on him to keep her safe, to keep her free. To keep her alive. Nothing must subvert that.

Admittedly he hadn't expected to find it quite so challenging living in close quarters with her. He was a little surprised at her reaction to his plans for the evening, although, he thought with a wry smile, her sarcasm and volatility were old friends of his by now. He couldn't afford to think too much on why she had reacted in that way. God, he needed to be away from her, at least for tonight.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

That evening Liz sat alone in the safe house, unable to keep her mind off Red and his exotic, sophisticated dinner guest. She felt foolish, like a silly school girl with a crush on a charming older guy unwilling to give her the time of day. She fiddled with her hair, looking at the blonde color out of the corner of her eye. It looked brassy and fake to her under the lights. She felt another unpleasant pang in her stomach. He must hate her hair – he was the epitome of class and elegance and, at the end of the day, this was a cheap home dye-job. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Grabbing the bottle she walked over to the laptop in the living area and sat down.

She knew what Anahita Salehi looked like – she'd seen pictures in the newspaper from time to time. She was very pretty. She took a gulp from her glass and typed the name into Google. She wasn't just pretty. She was beautiful. She looked poised and elegant, like a Persian princess, her enormous dark eyes and long, luxurious black hair effortlessly stunning in every photograph. Liz ran her fingers through her own hair, hating it more by the minute. She scanned some of the headlines. Red was right – Salehi was very successful, running businesses and charities, giving speeches, attending galas. She pulled up her bio. 44 years old. Much nearer to Red's age than Liz, though you wouldn't know it to look at her. Liz shut down the computer and poured herself another glass.

She was still sitting in the living area hours later when Red came in. He tossed his hat and coat on the large dining table and observed the empty bottle of wine with raised eyebrows.

"Decide to have a party on our own, did we?" he said drily.

Liz shrugged at him from the chair, her focus a little unsteady. "Why should you have all the fun?" she said sulkily.

"Had I known you were interested I would have invited you to come. Perhaps next time." His voice sounded tight. Condescending.

Liz felt stung. The thought of being a lame third wheel in between Red and Salehi's flirtatious repartee was unbearable.

"You know what? You're right" she spat. "I'm not interested. Sleep with whoever you want. Just don't pretend you're doing it to help me."

His expression darkened. "And who says that Anahita and I have an intimate relationship?"

"It's fine. Forget it."

She drained her glass, stood up and marched past him. His hand shot out and gripped her arm, spinning her back to face him. "We're not done."

She felt a jolt of fear run through her; he'd never touched her like that before and she was reminded that he was a dangerous and powerful man. She'd seen him kill people. Suddenly her petulant, alcohol-fuelled outburst seemed terribly ill-advised.

He studied her face for a moment, his eyes dark and tempestuous. "Elizabeth, if I didn't know better I'd say you were jealous."

His tone was low and serious, although she thought she detected a sparkle of amusement flash across his features. She felt an unstoppable wave of fury and shame wash over her, and something else as well – he had pulled her so close to him she could feel the warmth of his body, she could _smell_ him. His grip on her arm was tight but not painful and the feel of his fingers on her skin made her whole body ignite with want.

She swallowed. "I am not jealous!"

"Don't lie to me Lizzie, you're no good at it." He tutted at her and shook his head. "Anahita and I share a professional relationship only. Under normal circumstances I abhor jealously" he continued "but on you, I find it rather enchanting…" Maintaining his hold on her he brought his other hand up to tuck her blonde curls behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek purposefully.

 _Oh. Oh Yes._ The wine had made her a little giddy and she felt a tell-tale blush of arousal creep over her chest and onto her face. He smiled knowingly as he watched her cheeks color and she felt his fingers in her hair, interlacing with the golden strands with a pleasant tugging sensation.

Suddenly he leaned in until his lips brushed softly against her ear as he spoke.

"Elizabeth- how much have you had to drink?"

"Why do you care?" She could feel his breath on her neck.

His fingers tightened slightly in her hair. "Because I don't want you to do anything you will regret in the morning."

 _Oh God._ His achingly deep tones spiraled deliciously inside her, settling between her legs, and she couldn't help the small moan that escaped her lips. He drew back then, his cheek brushing against her until his lips were just inches from hers, his eyes dark and filled with the question he hadn't asked.

"Yes." She whispered. "Please, Red…" She was blushing furiously now, unable to get the words out to tell him what she needed, to tell him that she wanted him to take her there and then, to quell the desperate ache inside her.

He seemed to understand, and relieved her of further embarrassment by pressing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss, his passion intensifying when she willingly opened her mouth to accept his tongue, allowing him to explore her, while his fingers raked through her silky blonde curls. She slid her arm inside his jacket, pulling him closer until his impressive bulge was pressed against her, leaving her in no doubt of his intentions. Giving her one more, deep, intoxicating kiss, he lifted her suddenly onto the oak table behind her. Her eyes gleamed as he planted her on the table top, and he watched in awe as she stripped off her black cami, revealing full round breasts, her hardened nipples more pink and delicate than he could have imagined.

He wanted to take his time with her, desperate to explore every inch of her sublime body, but he could no longer control what they had become - a lustful haze of tongues and teeth and unstoppable desire, her fingers tearing at his belt as he sucked the sensitive flesh of her neck and squeezed her breasts in his hands. He quickly pushed her back on the table and undid her jeans, yanking them down along with her panties until she was naked and trembling with desire, wound tight as a spring.

"God Lizzie – you are divine. So beautiful, sweetheart."

Still fully clothed he allowed his eyes to feast on her body, running his thumb up the inside of her thigh whilst undoing his pants with his other hand. She swallowed as his erection bounced free, reaching out to wrap her hand around him. He groaned as he watched her delicate fingers slide up and down his thick length. "Ah, sweetheart keep that up and this will be over far too quickly."

She smiled wickedly at him as he reached into his back pocket and produced a condom. She watched in awe as he rolled it deftly down his shaft, and then gasped as his fingers slid along her entrance, his thumb brushing expertly over her clit. She mewled at the sensation and thrust her hips forward, eliciting a breathy laugh from him. Taking his cue, he ran the tip of his cock up and down her before pausing a moment, looking at her seriously. "Lizzie – you're sure?"

He felt her fingernails dig into his forearms. "God, yes I'm sure – please!"

Balancing her on the edge of the table he thrust slowly forward until he was buried inside her. They both moaned with pleasure and the relief that came with the moment they had both longed for. He moved slowly at first, determined not to hurt her, but soon she wrapped her long legs around him, drawing him in to the hilt and making him cry out gruffly. Bracing himself against her wrists on the table, he angled her just-so, each powerful thrust hitting her sweet spot until he felt her begin to quiver and pulse around him. Her eyes slipped shut in ecstasy and he felt the loss of her deep blue eyes acutely. "Open your eyes sweetheart" he breathed "let me see you come." She looked right at him then, her lids heavy and pupils dilated, and it was enough to take him with her, his balls tightening exquisitely before he was overcome with the most intense pleasure he had experienced in years.

Afterwards they collapsed on the sofa together and he wrapped his warm arms around her, kissing her head and running his fingers hypnotically through her hair. She looked up at him.

"So… I'm guessing you like my hair then?"

"Lizzie… it left me speechless."

The End


	9. *77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz gets shot, Red dials *77.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence/gore, just on a level with episode 2x19 Leonard Caul. Disclaimed as ever, love reviews as ever.

As he approached the storage unit, gun drawn, Red allowed himself a rare moment of self-doubt. He had planned for every contingency – his meticulous attention to detail was even more sharply tuned now that she was in his care, and unavoidably part of unsavory operations such as this one. But he wasn't omniscient, and she was so very unpredictable. They had grown closer and she seemed to trust him, so it was a genuine surprise to find that she had gone to meet their contact alone. With the benefit of hindsight he realized her need for control and independence had fueled this escapade. She needed to prove to him and to herself that she could survive in his world. But she wasn't ready. She needed him, and her stubbornness prevented her from acknowledging it.

He thought back to the phone call he had received not thirty minutes ago. Their contact was dead, killed two days ago. Whoever she had gone to meet, it wasn't him. This was a set-up, and had rapidly escalated into a bad situation when she decided to take matters into her own hands. As he rounded the corner of the unit he heard a loud bang echoing around the yard and his worst fears were realized. It was everything he could do not to cry out. She was lying motionless on the floor and a man he didn't know in a hoodie stood over her raising his gun again.

Red's aim was flawless; he took out the man with a head shot before he even knew that Red was there. After that he walked quickly into the unit, assessing the area for further threats and delivering a further shot to the unknown man's heart before kneeling at her side. Relief flooded him when he saw that she was conscious and he removed his jacket, folding it and pressing it to the wound on her abdomen. She cried out as he did so, her breathing painfully labored.

"You're alright" he said as calmly as he could. "I've got you." As he spoke he reached into his pocket and retrieved a phone, his thumb dialling the code that had been used all too recently. *77.

"Red-" She said his name but it came out as more of a splutter, her eyes opening and closing.

"I'm here sweetheart, I've got you." Before he could say anything else to comfort her, the phone rang and he followed the drill, giving their location. It was only at the end of the call that he deviated from the script.

"It's Elizabeth" he breathed. " Kate – it's Elizabeth."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "I understand" came the reply.

He ended the call and looked down at Liz, her eyes large and afraid and fixed on him.

"Red" it was practically a whisper. "Is this how it ends?"

He thought his heart would break. Her tiny voice uttering those words… it was unbearable. His head swam as he forced himself to smile gently down at her.

"No sweetheart, NO. You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine." He watched her eyes begin to droop. "Lizzie? LIZZIE – keep your eyes open!" But he knew that she couldn't and he watched helplessly as she slipped unconscious. He prayed to a god who had long since forsaken him that she would be alright. That she hadn't seen the fear in his eyes.

The location he received from Mr Kaplan was fifteen minutes away by her calculations. Dembe did it in nine and a half. When they reached the warehouse, Red carried Liz inside, and was met by a waiting surgeon who was pulling on scrubs. Red's eyes flickered in recognition – Kate had done well. It was Professor John Lyle, head of general surgery at Hopkins, a good man who had done right by him in the past. He looked up as they entered.

"Put her here" he said briskly, indicating a table set up behind plastic sheeting. No time for pleasantries. Keeping his jacket pressed on the wound, Red moved quickly and laid her on the metal table. It looked horribly like a mortuary slab. Lyle snapped on his gloves and turned round.

"Ok, you can move your jacket."

Red did as he asked, and watched appalled as her bloodied shirt came into view. Working quickly, Lyle took a pair of surgical scissors and unceremoniously cut her shirt up the middle, revealing a pale blue bra. Her blood had soaked into the lace, turning the bottom half a horrible purple color that would haunt Red the rest of his days. He turned away as his stomach began to heave.

"Raymond!" Lyle's voice snapped him back to attention. "I didn't take you for the squeamish type. There's no time for that. The rest of the team is still three minutes out, you need to help me."

Red turned back and nodded wordlessly.

"Put on some gloves, unwrap the surgical pads from the tray and hand them to me" Lyle barked as he worked. Red did as he asked, closing his eyes and grimacing at the horrible squelching sound of the surgeon's fingers exploring the bullet wound.

"Ok good news my friend, it doesn't look like it hit anything vital. But don't breathe out yet – she's lost a lot of blood, we have to move quickly."

Red looked down at Liz's motionless form on the table. She was deathly pale and he wondered for a moment what she had felt when she had seen him, shot and unconscious on a table much like this one. Fear. Adrenaline. But it can't have been quite like this for her. She didn't love him. She couldn't fathom the depth of feeling that he had for her. She hadn't lived long enough to comprehend it. She hadn't _lived_.

His reverie was broken by voices and footsteps behind him. The warehouse was suddenly filled with people – two women and a man all wearing scrubs, and three more wearing paramedic uniforms, carrying medical supply kits.

"Cavalry's here" Lyle said. "You're off the hook Raymond. Wait outside."

Red looked back to the table, watching in a daze as she was surrounded by the medical team, placing an oxygen mask on her face, hooking her up to tubes and machines. "I can't leave her" he said, his voice rough.

"Out." Lyle's tone was stern. "I can't work with you breathing down my neck" he continued as he worked on her, not even looking up as he spoke. "I know who she is. We both know how this goes. I save her and I have your eternal gratitude. She dies and I can't expect to leave here alive. So I've got nothing to lose in saying this to you. Get out and let me work."

If he wasn't already in shock, Red would have been disturbed by the surgeon's words. It was painful having his own ruthless image reflected back at him at a moment when his deepest emotions were laid bare. As it was he fixed the surgeon with a dark stare and responded "we understand each other then" before nodding and stepping back behind the plastic sheeting.

From there he could only see shapes, green and blue outlines as the team did their work and the blips as the monitors sprang to life. Not long after he felt Dembe's hand on his shoulder, and knew he would not have to face his darkest fears alone.

Three hours and twenty-seven minutes later, Professor John Lyle stepped out of the warehouse into the light of day, and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

_Fin._


	10. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If this woman was as good at discovering people's secret desires as she was supposed to be, then he knew exactly what he would find on the other side of that door. It terrified him." Lizzington one-shot. AU, based on the Djinn promo. Alice is the Djinn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence and mention of rape/dub-con. Disclaimed.

Red sat across from the woman known as the Djinn, smiling like a wolf as they flirted around the business at hand. He'd left Liz at the safe house that morning while he met with Leonard regarding Dembe's abduction. Time passed quickly as they set plans in motion, and he'd opted to come straight to the meeting with the Djinn. It was best that Lizzie not be here for this one in any case. The Djinn, whilst she may well be useful to them, was notoriously unpredictable, and wildly unscrupulous. She was also a shrewd business woman. His weapons had been politely confiscated at the door of her white stone mansion as he anticipated, and he had to rely on his silver tongue to strike a deal.

He studied the woman sitting across from him, her blonde hair falling about her shoulders and her dress as white as the stone and décor of the rest of the house. White and pure. He smirked inwardly at the irony as she began to speak again in her clipped British accent.

"I thought perhaps a demonstration of my skills would be in order, Mr Reddington."

He was suddenly on alert, although he schooled his features to reveal nothing but mild interest. "What did you have in mind?"

She smiled graciously and uncrossed her legs, giving him a fleeting glance of her thigh. "I discern people's deepest desires…their darkest fantasies…and I make them come true. I've been researching you, Mr Reddington. You're a complex man to understand. You insist on all the trappings of wealth and refinement… and yet you'd sacrifice it all in a heartbeat. You indulge your every desire except the one thing you really want. It's fascinating."

Red could feel his heart beat pick up, despite his best efforts. "I'm glad to have provided some entertainment for you" he said dryly.

"Perhaps I can return the favor" she responded smoothly. She rose gracefully to her feet and motioned for him to accompany her. He followed her down the white marbled corridor until they reached a door at the end and she turned to face him. "Your deepest desire, Mr Reddington." She removed an ornate key from her pocket and slid it into the lock on the door. All Red's senses were prickling now. If this woman was as good at discovering people's secret desires as she was supposed to be, then he knew exactly what he would find on the other side of that door. It terrified him. The Djinn opened the door and gestured languidly for him to enter.

Sure enough, there she was. His deepest desire. His darkest fantasy. His greatest secret, though apparently not a secret any longer. Liz lay unconscious on the bed in the middle of the room, her blond hair arranged delicately on the pillows and her hands resting at her sides. She was dressed in a cream silk teddy that, despite being a very tasteful undergarment, left little to the imagination. In his shock he found himself wondering fleetingly whether it was hers or whether, as he suspected, she had been dressed especially for him. She was laid out for him like a sick offering.

He turned back to the Djinn, barely able to conceal his anger, his voice low and hard. "It's an utterly basic premise of any fantasy of mine involving a woman that she be both conscious and willing. I'm afraid you've failed on both counts."

The Djinn smiled almost sympathetically. "You're upset. That's perfectly understandable - I often find that people are afraid to admit their true desires, even to themselves. It's my job to discern the truth of their hearts. I assure you she'll wake up soon, and I think you'll find her quite amenable" she said alarmingly casually.

Red's jaw tightened with anxiety and fury. "What did you give her? GHB? How much?" As he spoke he strode into the room and approached the bed where she lay. He grasped her face gently with his fingers and thumb, turning her head to the side. "Lizzie? Can you hear me?" She didn't respond and he delicately opened one of her eyes, to find her pupils large and dark. He stood back and ran a hand exasperatedly down his face.

The Djinn studied this behavior with gentle amusement from the doorway. "Mr Reddington, I'm a master of my art, and the way I maintain my skill is to learn...and experiment. Let's see if you can resist temptation."

Red's head snapped up, but it was too late. She'd locked the door behind her, leaving him alone in the room with Liz. He would be able to pick the lock in time, but with no gun and Liz unconscious it would do little good. He paused and looked around the room, looking for anything that could be an advantage. As he looked he realized just how much research the Djinn had done. Unlike the marbled and gilded hallways of the house, this room was homely, with well loved, heavy furniture. Chairs were upholstered with butter-soft leather, and the book shelves were laden with his favorite writers.

He noticed two glasses and a champagne bottle in an ice bucket on the dresser and went over to inspect it. He shook his head as he examined the label on the bottle. It was a 2002 Louis Roederer, very rare and something he had tried only once in Paris several years ago whilst celebrating the success of a daring art heist. He had almost been happy that night. How on earth had she known about that? He looked over at Liz asleep on the bed and had to resist the urge to open the bottle and down the whole thing. This was going to be a long afternoon.

He comforted himself with the thought that she was in no danger, not while he was with her. Looking around the room again it occurred to him that, no matter how well she understood desires and interests, the Djinn clearly had no comprehension of love. There was nothing on earth that would tempt him to hurt her. Replacing the champagne bottle in the ice bucket with a twinge of regret, he walked over to the bed and pulled the embroidered cotton bedspread up to cover Liz while she slept, before settling in a chair by the window. It wasn't long before he heard a muffled sound from the bed.

"Red?"

He looked round and saw her half-sitting up, her voice sleepy. This was the hard part; he had no idea how he was going to explain the situation to her. He tried to sound as calm and confident as he could.

"Lizzie - how are you feeling?"

She glanced around the room, confusion evident, before her eyes settled on him. "Weird. Good-weird. What's going on?"

He nodded stiffly. "I'm afraid you were drugged. There's nothing to worry about, just a small hiccup in our plans. We're going to be fine."

She pushed the cover down to get up and let out an embarrassed laugh. "Oh my god, what am I wearing?! Where are my clothes?"

He swallowed and walked to the en-suite without meeting her eye. He returned with a glass of water and handed it to her, his eyes averted. "Drink this. I have every confidence that we will be leaving this place before long. The Djinn has a certain flare for the dramatic" he said stepping away and returning to his place by the window as far away from her as possible.

Liz frowned. "This is a demonstration" she said, her words thick with sleep.

Red clenched his teeth. "Yes."

Seemingly unconcerned about her state of undress, Liz hopped off the bed and began looking round the room, stopping to inspect the bookshelves and décor. Red watched as she picked up an ornate, hardback book, running her finger thoughtfully down the spine. The silk teddy was cut high on the leg, such that when she reached for another book he saw the delicate curve of her ass where it met the tops of her legs. He turned away hastily. This wasn't a fantasy, he thought glumly. This was torture. As if sharing his space with her day and night wasn't difficult enough, here she was, practically gift-wrapped in front of him.

"Oh…"

He turned back to her. She stood facing him, her eyes wide.

"...this room - it's just like your apartment…This is your fantasy" she said slowly.

Red worked his jaw uncomfortably. Even under the influence she didn't miss a thing. It was too much to hope that she wouldn't make the connection.

"It's the Djnn's interpretation of my fantasy" he said firmly, turning back to stare out of the window. "As soon as you're feeling up to it we'll go." He sucked in a breath when he sensed her presence behind him. She put her hand gently on his arm as she stepped into his eye-line, her slender body brushing against him.

She looked up at him from under thick lashes. "Red… am I your fantasy?"

He looked stricken as he observed her, her pupils dilated and her breathing fast. "Lizzie…"

Undeterred by his warning tone, she continued, her grip on his arm tightening. "Tell me the truth Red. You told me I was your north star. The way you looked at me…I've thought a lot about that night."

 _So have I_ , he thought.

She smiled and put a hand on his vest, her fingers running over the buttons as if she was considering undressing him. He closed his eyes, lost in the thought of it, the thought of taking her in his arms and just holding her. But considering that for one second was one second too long. He brought his hands up to gently take her wrists. He couldn't allow her to do this. She'd hate him for it when she sobered up. He'd hate himself for it.

"Lizzie" he said firmly. "You've been drugged, and it's affecting your judgement. I am so sorry that I am the reason this happened to you."

"I don't understand." She frowned, and it pained him to see her look of rejection, her forehead creased.

He slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "Put this on and I'll get you some more water."

Before he could move she strode past him, his jacket falling from her shoulders to the floor. She made a bee-line for the champagne and held up the bottle excitedly.

"I've got a better idea" she said, raising an eyebrow. "How about we crack this open and you stop being a spoilsport?"

He watched in dismay as she began to tear open the foil on the bottle. Walking to her, he gently pulled the bottle from her grip and placed it back on the table.

"Hey!"

He sighed. "Lizzie if you drink that you'll fall asleep again. I need you to focus. We have to get out of here."

She leant back against the dresser and smiled. "Do you need me to save you, Red? That's what we do, isn't it? Save each other?"

He stared at her bleakly. When he didn't respond she rolled her eyes and walked to one of the paintings, yanking it unceremoniously off the wall. Tearing at the back she removed a stiff length of picture wire and went to the door. He watched as she knelt in front of the lock and worked at it until it clicked. She turned to him with a triumphant look on her face and he couldn't help but smile back. She was magnificent.

He retrieved his jacket from the floor and handed it to her, and to his relief she accepted it this time. Reaching out, he took the picture wire from her hand and secreted it in his pocket. "Ready?" he said as neutrally as he could.

"Wait. The Djinn - please don't...don't do anything. I know this didn't work out how you'd planned, but she didn't hurt me. Let's just get out of here."

He blinked for a moment and then stepped in front of her, opening the door quietly and gesturing for her to follow. They met no one on the way, and made it to the large entrance hall without incident. Red opened the front door and ascertained that their car was still out front. He handed Liz the keys. "Go and wait in the car."

"Red-"

"Now, Lizzie" he said firmly.

She looked at him and it seemed to him like sadness and disappointment. It hurt, but it was familiar. She didn't protest further, only turned wordlessly and walked to the car, his jacket dwarfing her small frame. He stepped back into the house and entered the main sitting room, where he found the Djinn sitting on the pristine white sofa, cradling a crystal tumbler in her hand. She seemed unaffected by his entrance, and merely raised the glass to him in a toasting gesture.

"Well done, Mr Reddington. You're a gentleman. There aren't many of those left in the world. Nevertheless, I assume my demonstration has convinced you of my talents."

He approached slowly and sat down on a nearby chair, clasping his hands in front of him. He regarded the woman for a moment and then shook his head. His tone, when he spoke, was thoughtful.

"The great confederate general Robert Lee said that a true gentleman is known not by his power, or income… but by his ability to _forgive_. Now, the young woman you saw fit to abduct…the woman you set up to be _raped_ … she has a very forgiving nature. But I don't. You see Alice…I'm no gentleman."

Her eyes widened in alarm as his words sunk in but he was so fast she didn't even have time to scream. There was no escaping the truth, he thought as he wrapped the picture wire round the woman's neck. Where Lizzie saw a lock pick, he saw a garrote. He was a monster, and he could never, ever deserve her. It was a terribly painful thought. He tightened his grip, relieved that the woman's useless struggles only hastened her death. After it was done, he walked to the car without looking back, pausing only to collect his hat from the table in the hall.


	11. A Little of Both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-shot set after episode 3x5 (SPOILERS), exploring the events of the hanger scene and Solomon's characterization of their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, don't read if Solomon's 'little of both' comment offended you.

After they left the house of the girl and her father, Red and Liz moved to a modest safe house near North Park so they could be close to Dembe. It was late now. They had said almost nothing to one another of the day's events. Exhausted, Liz had gone to bed, but Red knew that sleep would elude him that night. He sat on the couch cradling a tumbler of scotch in his hand, eyeing the worn carpet beneath his feet with distaste while the events in the hanger rolled over in his mind like a snuff film spinning over a projector, punctuated by Solomon's words and Lizzie's screams.

He knew that the sound of her screams would haunt him the rest of his days, another burn mark on his soul - a keening wail echoing through the hanger, proof that he couldn't save her, and worse, that she knew it. The last time he'd heard her scream in pure fear she had been just four years old. But she wasn't a child any longer, he thought as she appeared in the doorway, flitting his eyes briefly over her body.

_What is the deal with you two anyways?_

She was wearing a tank top and sleep pants with a thick waistband that stretched low across her hips. A small sliver of skin was visible between her top and pants and he shuddered imperceptibly. He was instantly brought back to the image of her pinned to the table by large men she couldn't hope to fight, struggling and whimpering as Solomon subjected her to his sick theatrics. She had literally been helpless – he couldn't help her.

There again, her shirt had ridden up, exposing curve of her hips and stomach. A primal pool of fear had settled in his gut when he had seen it. That thin line of exposed flesh was a gulf of vulnerability. He knew it as sure as he knew the importance of drawing first blood in a fight. To bleed – or to show soft, secret flesh – is to give away your power. As a young, attractive woman in his criminal underworld she had precious little to begin with. She didn't belong here. She belonged to his past and he needed to keep her there, keep her protected.

_Some say it's a daddy/daughter thing_

He held his tumbler to his lips as he watched her approach.

"It's late. You should be in bed, Elizabeth. We have a long day tomorrow."

She stopped short, hurt ghosting across her face at his cold reception. "Are you scolding me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. She watched as his lip twitched in distaste at her words. When he didn't respond she tried again. "I can't sleep" she said flatly, and that seemed to work.

He gestured to the empty space on the couch next to him and leaned forward to pour a splash of whisky into another tumbler. He handed it to her wordlessly and she sat down, her body tense. He knew what she was feeling all too well. The adrenaline after a near miss doesn't stop pumping when you're out of danger. It makes tight rods of your limbs, and beats your heart like a drum in the night.

She took a small sip of scotch and closed her eyes as the amber liquor burned her throat. He knew that feeling too. It was real, and comforting. He took a long pull from his own glass. There were deep creases around his eyes, underscored by dark circles. He still hadn't looked at her, focusing only on the tumbler in his hand, his eyes occasionally drifting to the side to stare at some unknown thought.

She wrapped her hands pensively around her tumbler, overcome with the feel of the cool glass against her warm skin, her heart thumping, pumping blood to her hands, her feet -everywhere. She was alive.

"I can't stop thinking about him" she said quietly, staring at her hands. "Solomon. Whether he would have gone through with…what he said" she said carefully.

Red's knuckles tightened around his tumbler as he brought it to his lips again. He swallowed tightly before answering her. "Matias Solomon is a sadistic psychopath. Utterly corrupt. He would have done it. And worse" he added hollowly, not meeting her eye.

Liz's skin prickled, not just at his words but his tone. He was obviously referring to the way Solomon had trailed the knife suggestively over her breast. She felt sick to her stomach. In that one action, Solomon had made it horribly clear what his intentions were and in doing so had viciously sexualized her in front of Red. Did he think she didn't understand? Was he disgusted? She hated that he wouldn't look at her.

She drew her arms around herself. "You think I'm that naive? That I don't understand what could have happened today? I'm a criminal profiler, Red." She took a deep breath. "You know what the worst part is" she said tentatively. "Not even what he was going to do…but that he was going to do it in front of you."

Red did look at her then. He turned his head slowly, his eyes burning. "There is nothing in this world – _nothing_ \- that could ever diminish you in my eyes."

_Others swear it's May-September_

As she met his fearsome gaze she understood then that he was deeply angry, though not with her. After a moment he looked away again and refilled their glasses, wrenching the stopper from the bottle almost aggressively, his expression grim. She raised her tumbler to her lips and downed the contents in one, wincing as the harsh liquid seared her mouth.

He frowned as he observed her. "If you can't sleep there are pills in the kit – now that your name is off that website it should be safe for you to take one. I'll keep watch. You need a proper night's sleep, Elizabeth. No more of this" he added, gently removing the tumbler from her hand and setting it on the table.

"I'd rather not. I mean… that's not what I need" she said awkwardly.

His expression hardened and he nodded tightly, looking away. "I understand. You don't trust me. And after today you're right not to" he said bitterly. "Twice I failed to protect you. Those dearest to me were endangered because I was betrayed by one of my own. And I didn't see it." He drained his own glass and tossed it back on the table, where it wobbled for a moment before coming to rest.

Liz put her hand on the couch between them. "You're wrong. I do trust you. Especially after today. You've survived in this world for over twenty years and you've done it by being alone. Caring for others makes you vulnerable and yet you're willing to do it for me. You could have been killed today too. I trust you Red."

She went to get up from the couch and she felt his hand grab hers as she stood. "What _do_ you need?" he said looking up at her, his eyes dark and weary.

She met his gaze tentatively. "I need to sleep… but every time I lie down and close my eyes I feel like I'm back on that table, with strangers… those men are holding me down and I feel like I can't breathe" she said, her voice cracking. She looked down at their joined hands and saw for the first time deep purple bruises on his wrist where he had struggled desperately to escape from the plastic ties so that he could help her. "Will you hold me until I fall asleep?" She looked back at him, her expression almost childlike – sleepy and frightened, as though she'd just woken from a nightmare.

His brow knitted slightly in surprise, but he said nothing, only nodding slowly. He followed her to the bedroom where she climbed into bed, scooting over to the far side and drawing back the cover for him before curling into a fetal position with her back to him. He sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes, swinging his legs onto the mattress and reclining tentatively next to her. Remembering her request, he placed his hand hesitantly on her arm; her skin was shockingly warm and soft under his calloused palm.

A second later she reached back and took his hand, pulling his arm around her waist and curving her warm little body into his. He stayed perfectly still, not daring to move a muscle as she wriggled closer to him, her slender fingers entwined with his large hand while her ass pressed against his groin. Soon after, he felt her body relax as sleep claimed her and she left him alone with his memories of the day's events once again.

_I prefer to believe… it's a little of both._


	12. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Angsty little one-shot in response to 3x11. Spoilers for that episode. Dark Red. Disclaimed.

"I'm pregnant."

As he watched her from his seat on the couch in her new apartment, sunlight from the east facing windows lighting up her poor, bruised face, he couldn't bring himself to feign surprise. When he'd found out the day before, when he'd been informed of her assault… When he'd bribed and threatened until her medical records were in his hands, when he'd seen the test results… Well. It was best that she'd been spared his true reaction.

If his blank expression alarmed her, she didn't show it. She continued to talk quickly, her jumbled, pitiful thoughts rushing out. Her fantasy, her future, Tom… _Tom_ , she called him. _Still_. She turned away from him to press the coffee on the counter.

His judgement was clouded, Kate had said. Clouded by his love for her. But she was wrong. This was one of the very rare occasions on which in order to do the right thing…to be his best self… he needed to be the very worst he could be. To do anything less… well, that would be allowing his love to stand in the way of what had to be done.

When he stood behind her she tensed; she knew he was there, but she didn't turn around. When he held the pungent cloth tightly over her mouth she barely struggled. He wanted to comfort himself with the thought that on some level she knew; that in time she might even understand. But just as he never lied to her, he didn't lie to himself. She had given up.

Perhaps, in the end, that would work in his favor.


	13. Nowhere to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz struggles to live a normal life, and the people around her aren't making it any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that a lot of people seem disappointed by Liz's behavior in the show at the moment, and I wanted to explore things from Liz's perspective as I imagine she might be – pregnant, tired, scared and with not much power over anything. Angsty. Don't read if this doesn't interest you. Disclaimed!

As Liz placed her key in the heavy duty new lock of her apartment door she felt a familiar sense creep over her. He was there. Again. She wasn't sure how she knew; everything was silent – it was silent all the time since he'd moved her neighbor and her baby out of the building.

When she entered he was sitting on the couch that he had bought her, one leg folded over the other and his fedora resting on the cushion.

"I changed the locks" she stated, tossing her bag and jacket on the counter. "They're supposed to be totally secure."

"Lizzie, I'm offended" he responded genially.

She raised an eyebrow. "You're offended that I changed the locks, after I asked you not to keep letting yourself in?"

He smiled tightly. "No. I'm offended that you think I'd be thwarted by something as mundane as a locked door."

She sighed and ran her hand distractedly through her new sleek bob. "Maybe I just thought you'd get the hint."

The trace of a smile he'd had faded then. "Having so recently been on the other side of the law I would have thought you'd understand that the need for a low profile makes the prospect of waiting in corridors unattractive."

She nodded and pursed her lips. "You could just call me first. Arrange to come over."

He stared at her then, his blue-grey eyes penetrating, searching. "Could I" he said flatly.

Liz winced inwardly. On the run it was simple; they had one mission – one goal - and they worked smoothly together to achieve it. Now she didn't know what he wanted from her.

"Why are you here?" she said, trying to sound cool and even.

He gave a slight nod and looked away from her for a moment. When he looked back his face was as much a mask as hers. "I came to discuss a worrying trend in your behavior."

"Really" she said sarcastically. "And what's that?"

"A frankly reckless disregard for your own health and well-being" he responded, ignoring her tone.

"I'm fine."

He shook his head, his voice softening. "You're not fine, Elizabeth. You were thrust into something you couldn't control, fighting just to survive, all the while coming to terms with the fact that you are pregnant. As if that wasn't enough you were viciously attacked. Beaten unconscious."

Reddington paused for a moment, his teeth clamped against his cheek, and Liz found herself suddenly unable to meet his gaze. She didn't need to hear this, and she certainly didn't need to relive it.

"I appreciate your concern but I'm getting on with my life."

"Yes, by throwing yourself into work. Refusing to rest. Putting yourself in the middle of mob gun battles" he said in a hard tone.

Liz bit her lip and swallowed. He'd turned her life upside down – he was the reason she looked over her shoulder all the time. So why did it hurt so much when he scolded her?

"You dismissed the masseuse I arranged for you" he continued. "She was quite distressed that she wasn't able to complete her task. Meanwhile Baz tells me that you've barely been home. You should be recuperating, Lizzie."

As he spoke, his tone so superior and uncompromising, she felt a wave of choking, bitter anger build inside her.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she hissed. "You've taken everything away except work. You made sure I can't move with Tom, you tanked his job offer. You even made my neighbor move out so that you can spy on me! Did you know she had a new baby? That she was someone I could actually talk to? I have no one!"

Reddington stared at her mutely until she had finished her tirade. "You have me" he responded finally.

He sounded so calm and sure, as though he was the reason everything would be alright instead of the reason for all her pain and loneliness. Her chin crumpled.

"Stop" she whispered. "You have to stop."

He continued to stare at her, his eyes sharp.

"You've been meddling in my life for God knows how long. Pulling strings, making decisions for me. You come into my apartment whenever you want. You're having me watched-"

"For your protection" he interjected.

She shook her head, her voice cracking. "If I'm to have any chance of a normal life, you have to back off."

Silence hung between them for a moment before he rose to his feet. "I should leave you to rest" he said calmly, palming his fedora onto his head. She watched him guardedly as he approached her and put his hand on her shoulder. "I see you haven't made any progress decorating your new home. I'll have a consultant come visit you. She's a real visionary, an artist I met when she was in residency at La Macina di San Cresci who's become quite a name in interior design."

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, turned and left without waiting for her to respond. She stood stock still listening to his footsteps retreating down the corridor, before sinking slowly to sit on the floor, her head in her hands.

* * *

 

The next day she expected to get the usual call from Cooper inviting her to come in and work with the task force, but it didn't come. Reddington hadn't been in touch either, and whilst she was grateful for that, without him there were no cases to work on. She fidgeted a while longer and then grabbed her keys and drove to the post office.

Exiting the large yellow elevator she was glad to see the team on the main floor. It was the only time she felt at home now.

"Hey guys, what's happening?" she said cheerily.

They looked up, their faces a mix of surprise and concern. Cooper walked to meet her. "Keen, what are you doing here?"

Liz looked around nervously. "Er, reporting for duty sir. You must have something for me, I'm going stir crazy at home" she smiled apologetically.

Cooper removed his glasses and sighed. "Why don't you come to my office a moment?"

Liz nodded and walked with him, looking back at her former team and their somber faces.

By the time they got to Cooper's Office Liz had a growing sense of foreboding. "Sir has anything happened?"

Cooper gestured for her to sit. "Everything's fine here. To be honest it's you I'm concerned about. You've been through a lot, Keen. You should be resting."

Liz frowned. "Sir, I'm really fine. Working helps actually. So what have you got for me?" she finished lightly.

"Nothing at the moment. Reddington has indicated that he won't be bringing another case until you've had a chance to recuperate and I'm inclined to agree."

Liz felt her stomach jolt nastily. "Reddington? You've spoken to him?"

Cooper nodded. "He paid me a visit here last night. He's quite concerned for you."

Liz's hands began to tremble with anger. "He's manipulating you. Can't you see that?"

Cooper frowned. "I learned long ago that Reddington always has an agenda. But whatever it is, it doesn't change the fact that he's right about you. You're pregnant and you've been through hell. Truthfully, I feel partially responsible for what's happened. I have to do the right thing by you now."

"How are you responsible?" Liz said exasperatedly.

Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was there when you shot Connolly and I didn't stop you. And when you came back to work here I left you without a firearm. It's down to my decision that you couldn't defend yourself when you were attacked. The least I can do now is make sure that you get the rest you need."

Liz got to her feet angrily. "Connolly is on me, no one else – you were there, you know that better than anyone!"

Cooper shook his head. "Go home, Keen."

"You think you're helping me but you're not. I can't believe you've let Reddington get into your head" she spat, slamming the door behind her.

She managed to hold the tears in until she was back in her car, whereupon she allowed them to come freely, slamming her fists against the steering wheel in bitter frustration. Work was her last refuge, and he had taken that as well. Her team had actually looked scared, like she might break at any time. And Cooper… When everything else was crazy, she'd always trusted him to know what was right, but not anymore. He was singing Reddington's song too now - rest, rest, _fucking_ rest. How was she supposed to rest when he'd taken everything?

By the time she was back on the road the sky had opened and big fat raindrops were rolling down the windshield, pattering on the roof of the car to a beat that seemed to say Redd-ing-ton, Redd-ing-ton. She was actually looking forward to getting home at this point. If there was no work at least he wouldn't be there. She might actually look at some color swatches for her place. The weird pregnancy cravings were starting to kick in too.

She was just wondering if she could find a place that delivered Indian takeout during the day when she pulled up outside her building to see a ton of people standing outside and a couple of utility vans. She spotted the building super in the crowd and made her way over to him, pulling her coat around her as the rain began to seep into her hair and drip down her collar.

"What's going on? Can I go up to my place?"

He turned to her and shrugged. "I'm afraid not. There's a gas leak – everyone's fine but apparently there's a major problem with the piping. Needs some serious work before anyone can go back in."

Liz sighed and nodded, pulling her cell phone out of her bag.

"Tom? It's Liz, I need somewhere… where are you?" she asked frowning. He obviously wasn't on the boat and she could hear laughter in the background.

"I figured out a way to make some cash!" he responded jovially, and Liz was sure she heard foreign sounding voices on the line. A woman's voice. She tried again.

"Tom, I just need somewhere to-"

"I gotta go Liz" he cut her off. "Everything's gonna be fine."

The sinking feeling in Liz's stomach worsened. "Tom, what have you done?" she asked, but it was too late – he'd hung up. She couldn't raise a child with him. She didn't want money. All she needed was a place to stay.

She turned back to her building super. "How long till I can get back in?"

He shrugged. "We're talking at least a couple of weeks. You need to find somewhere else to go."

Liz nodded shakily, the unpleasant truth creeping over her. She had nowhere else to go.

Wet, hungry and tired, she was about to walk back to her car when she caught sight of Baz. He was standing away from the crowd, under the fire escape of her building with a cigarette in his hand. If there really was a gas leak, why would he be smoking?

She frowned and was about to move towards him when she felt a hand close around her arm.

"Lizzie!"

She twisted round to see Reddington flash her a broad, closed-lipped smile. She made to pull back from him but he kept a firm grip on her, pulling her under the large black umbrella he was holding. "I was just coming to see you, but it appears that your building is unfortunately out of bounds for now."

"And you wouldn't know anything about that?" she countered. Her sarcastic tone was undermined somewhat by the fact that she was rain-soaked and shivering.

Reddington frowned. "Sweetheart you're freezing. Dembe is right over there with the car-"

"Thanks" she cut in, "but I don't have time. If my place is off-limits I need to get a motel room before this evening."

Reddington shook his head sharply. "Out of the question. Your previous stint living in soulless motel rooms was intolerable enough, but now that you're pregnant…" he paused and sighed at her, his brow knitted in concern. "It's settled. You're staying with me. Your apartment will be out of commission for at least a couple of weeks - when you move back I can assure you, you won't recognize the place-"

"Your decorator…" Liz said slowly, her teeth chattering in the cold. "Is that what this is all about? There isn't a gas leak at all, is there?"

"I'm always delighted to chat" he said, ignoring her question, "but not if you insist on doing so outside in the middle of a rain storm" he said with an air of finality. As he spoke he began walking towards the black sedan, shepherding her with his hand still firmly on her arm.

When they reached the car he opened the door for her and she hesitated, pausing to look back at the utility vans surrounding her building. After a moment she heard him speak again. His tone was gentle and conciliatory but his words were terrible.

"Sweetheart – you have nowhere else to go."

She choked back a sob and nodded, before sinking into the warmth of the backseat. Reddington smiled softly, and closed the door.


	14. The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little *what if* for after ep 3x18.

Reddington looked down at his shoes as he stumbled inelegantly down the pebble beach, the soft Italian leather absorbing chalk and sand. He’d known it was her the moment she’d spoken, even on the phone. He knew her voice by heart, every cadence, every brush of her tongue over her bottom teeth, every time she paused to bite her lip. And yet as he approached the lone figure on the beach he couldn’t comprehend it, his knees threatening to buckle as they had before, the moment he’d realised she was truly gone.

Her dark hair whipped across her face in the wind, and right until the second she turned to face him he had wild thoughts; this was an imposter sent to finish the empty husk that was left of him or Katerina come out of the ocean to damn him for not protecting her only child. Perhaps there was no one there at all, and he had finally lost his mind completely, driven mad by consuming grief.

He stopped short as she turned to him, her shimmering blue eyes like calm waters next to the turmoil that he felt. She offered him a sad smile and his lungs tightened, the breath ripped from his chest. He felt his legs tremble and planted his foot shakily on the pebbles to steady himself.

“It’s me” she said simply, her voice soft and salty like the sea air.

He closed his eyes then, a single tear escaping down his lined, drawn face. He hadn’t cried when she’d gone, not once. 

She walked to him slowly and looked up at him, her eyes begging for recognition. For understanding.

He raised his hand to her face, touching her softly at first, then harder, pinching her chin as though her face was a mask he could yank away. A moment later his hand fell limply to his side.

“How?” he asked gruffly. 

She sighed and tilted her head, her eyes full of regret.

“Nick…and Mr Kaplan.”

His jaw clenched, his nails digging painfully into the callused skin of his palms.

“Kate” he said desolately.

He heard her breathing quicken slightly. “It was the only way. But it was dangerous… you wouldn’t have let me.”

“ _Oh_ you’re right about that” he growled, his voice as rough as the sea water raking over the pebbles.

She swallowed a sob. “Do you remember what I said to you? Before I…”

“You said my name” he said slowly. It was all he had allowed himself. He couldn’t bear the pain of having heard what came after that.

“I said that I love you.”

She said it quietly but with such conviction the force of it was almost enough to tear him down.

It was long moments before he responded, his answer barely distinguishable from the sigh of the ocean he loved so much.

“Yeah.”


	15. Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Liz is rescued from Alexander Kirk, all she wants to do is feed her child. She quickly discovers that the man she once knew as her protecter is now keeping her under lock and key, separating her from her baby. In order to find her way out, she will have to face a truth that she has been denying, even to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dark little fantasy one-shot to celebrate the start of the new season!

He’d said nothing in the car as they sped down the dusty dirt road to safety, withered palm leaves crunching under the tyres. The sunset had glinted on the flecks of gold and silver in his short hair, bouncing off the rims of his sunglasses, which were hardly necessary, she’d thought, as the evening drew in. Even if she weren’t weak and exhausted and pining for her child, there was nothing she could offer him. She couldn’t take back what she’d done. At some point she’d closed her eyes, her head rolling limply against the car seat.

When she opened them again, she was lying on a large, comfortable bed in another Cuban villa, though this one was nearer the sea – she could hear the comforting murmur of lapping waves. She started when she realised that she wasn’t alone. He was standing in the doorway, shrouded in twilight, his signature fedora clutched between his long fingers. She could barely make out his face in the half-light, and as the silence stretched between them a sense of unease began to creep over her.

She sat up straight on the bed, her limbs tense. She’d known really, when he’d come for her - when he’d slaughtered every last man in the compound in which she was being held - that there was no peace to be had. She’d known, and yet she’d done nothing, once again following the criminal into the unknown. She licked her lips.

“Where’s Agnes? Where’s my daughter?”

She watched him warily as she spoke, his suited-form misshapen in the shadows of the bedroom door.

“Safe, Elizabeth. She’s safe.”

His words offered her some comfort, but his voice was strange and hollow. She set her jaw, holding back the rage she felt at his failure to provide more information. He was deeply hurt, and she had caused it.

“I’d like to see her now.”

He worked his jaw for a moment, before shaking his head. “Not just yet” he answered quietly. “Because of this… _scheme_ of Kate’s, Kirk was able to take you both. I won’t allow it to happen again. I won’t risk losing both of you.”

Liz paled. “If someone comes for my daughter I need to be with her - Red, please!” She swallowed the desperation in her voice and tried to approach him rationally, as a profiler. “I know…I realise I’ve hurt you. Badly. I need you to understand that I did it to protect my child-”

He stepped forward into the bluish half-light and she saw his face properly for the first time since she had gone away. The lines around his eyes had deepened, traversing the dark circles and raking cheek bones that were noticeably more prominent than the last time she’d seen him. He’d lost weight, his face drawn and dark. He looked dreadful, his appearance almost as chilling as the tight, weary tone with which he was speaking to her.

“You were willing to do whatever it took to protect someone you love. I understand that. I expect you to understand that I’m doing the same."

Liz’s breasts had begun to ache as she thought about her infant daughter. She’d been separated from her for almost a full day now, and she could feel the milk begin to leak, soaking into her tank top. She folded her arms defensively across her chest, hoping that in the low, cold light he wouldn’t see the dark patches on her top.

“I need to feed her” she said with conviction.

She was confident that gently reminding him of the basic requirements of motherhood, of the requirements of her body would be enough – it had been many years since he’d cared for a child and he would surely have forgotten.

She watched as he swallowed and nodded briefly. “You’ll find a breast pump and sterile feeding bottles in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll see that she gets them.”

His words slipped down inside her like an ice cube. This wasn’t rage or grief or panic. It wasn’t a temporary state. This was calculated.

“Raymond…” she whispered, hoping that hearing his given name from her would reach him. It had done before, months ago, somewhere on the dark, glittering sea. “What are you doing?”

He smiled gently at her but it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained gray and haunted in the cold, fading light.

“Get some sleep, Elizabeth. You need rest.”

Seeing that he was about to leave the room she began to panic and sprang off the bed – “wait, no!”

But it was too late. He had closed the door behind him and as she slammed into it she felt the distinctive coldness of reinforced steel. She grabbed the door handle, knowing in her heart of hearts what she would find. This lock was so strong, so intricate, that she doubted anyone could pick it, at least not with the tools available in the room. He knew her too well.

She smacked her palm against the door, first in rage, and then despair as the tears came. Even as his behavior had become more erratic, more possessive as her belly had grown, it hadn’t occurred to her that she would have anything to fear from him. Even now, part of her brain was desperately searching for a reasonable explanation. But as she cried into the darkness she knew two things with a certainty that had eluded her until this point: He _loved_ her; she had broken him.

* * *

 

Days passed and she hadn’t seen him again, only a lady who brought her sumptuous meals on a tray and looked at her silently with sympathetic eyes before leaving her alone again for long hours. Dutifully, Liz filled the small plastic feeding bottles that had been supplied, though the first time she sobbed exasperatedly as she realised she didn’t know how to use the pump. The constant threat of danger had left her little time to learn the basics of motherhood. She sat down numbly to read the instruction booklet and every word dropped inside her like a little stone, painful reminders of her perilous situation.

_The first weeks and months of breastfeeding are a magical time for mothers to bond with their babies. A breast pump can help ease the transition when you want to continue breast feeding, but want the freedom to go back to work or juggle the demands of family life. When you’re on the go, looking at a photograph of your baby can help release the appropriate hormones to allow for milk production. This can also help you to relax-_

The booklet slipped from her hand to the floor, the picture of the smiling mother and baby on the front taunting her. How could she explain to him how desperate she was to see her daughter? That she needed to smell her skin, to feed her, that her whole body was _collapsing_ without her?

She tried the strange device but her milk wouldn’t come in properly, and wouldn’t come, and it was only when a treacherous thought came unbidden of Red cradling her daughter that she felt release, the bottle growing warm as she filled it.

Each time she was done she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the bottle, taking some comfort in knowing that at least her baby was getting something of her. She wondered fleetingly if the silent, sympathetic woman fed her, or if it was as she had imagined, with Red holding her child in the crook of his arm, administering her breast milk himself.

After several days she began to suspect that he had been visiting her at night while she slept. She couldn’t be sure – there was a good possibility that her instincts would deceive her under the uniquely stressful circumstances – but some mornings she was convinced that the chair by her bed had moved an inch or so.  

It was confirmed one night when she woke in the darkest hours to find him sitting there, his breathing a little uneven. His sleeves were rolled up – she could just make out the shape of his forearms – and she caught the faint scent of scotch.

“Red?” she said tentatively.

She heard him breathe in sharply and there was a long pause before he responded.

“Elizabeth. You should be asleep.”

“You’ve been drinking” she responded slowly, eliciting a sharp, mirthless laugh from him.

“A few fingers. Not nearly enough to keep the chill at bay. The evenings have been…very cold of late” he said hollowly.

The pain in his voice was almost unbearable to hear, and Liz bit her lip to stave off the sob of shame that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I know you hate me” she said in a broken whisper. “You want to punish me, and you can do that… but don’t punish her too. Agnes is innocent.”

He leaned forward then, his hands resting on his knees, his head bowed as though it were too heavy to hold up.

“You think this is a punishment” he said in a low voice.

“Isn’t it?”

He turned his gaze up to look at her slowly. “Nothing could be further from the truth. My motives are… pure” he said with a wan smile. “It’s the simplest thing in the world” he murmured. “A father, wanting to protect his daughter. To spend time with her.”

As she processed what he’d said, blood began to pound in Liz’s ears, her heart thumped and the night time shadows loomed larger. In a daze she scrambled out of bed but he had moved from his chair with surprising agility, and had wrapped an arm around her.

“Shhh, shh Lizzie it’s ok-”

“No, _no_ ” she moaned, struggling fruitlessly against him.

He pulled her gently back down to the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around her shaking body, and kissed her temple.

“You don’t have to bear to burden of this any longer. It’s over. Agnes is mine, Elizabeth. I know.”

Liz felt as though the air had left her body. In her mind she was hurtling down a dark corridor towards the truth, heedless of her own desperate voice warning her to go back, to hide in the pretence that had almost become a reality.

She stilled in his arms, and for a while there was nothing but the sound of their breathing.

“How did you find out?” she asked numbly.

“Kate Kaplan is my oldest friend. For her to…” He paused and swallowed. “The only circumstances under which I could _imagine_ her acting as she did would be to protect my child.”

She felt his chest heave as he held her to him, his voice heavy with emotion. “Even then I couldn’t quite fathom the possibility… that I might be a father again. That the _beautiful_ little girl you gave birth to was my daughter. Her tiny fingers, wrapped around mine…”

Liz closed her eyes as he spoke, a strange sense of peace coming over her. He was right. It was over. Whatever he did to her, whatever became of her now, she was unburdened.

“Mr Kaplan… She just knew, right away. She told me she could protect us. Raymond…”

“There’s nothing to say, Elizabeth.”

His voice wasn’t unkind, but she trembled involuntarily in his arms, the white cotton of her nightdress suddenly seeming very thin.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered.

He sighed, his breath slightly teasing her hair. “What I should have done from the start. I’m going to keep you safe. You and our daughter will be safe.”

At his words she began to cry, gasping hot tears of relief, the tension of many months dissolving as she sobbed into his vest. He held her tightly, his hand stroking her head, and she remained there until she felt something warm and wet between them. 

“Oh god…” She drew back, her face burning with embarrassment. “I need to pump.”

He looked down at her, his smile warm, and it seemed to her that some of the chill had gone from his features. He looked almost excited. 

“If you’re able to wait, just a minute. 

He rose from the bed and left the room. When he returned he was cradling Agnes, her tiny cooing noises making Liz’s body ache all over, desperate as she was to hold her daughter. Whimpering with relief and delight, she stretched out her hands and he placed the infant in her arms.

“She was here?” Liz asked, staring with wonder at her daughter’s round, pink little face.

He shook his head slowly. “I brought her here tonight. I cannot deny that the _terror_ I feel at the prospect of losing either one of you is…indescribable. But there’s a lesson I should have learned by now. A child belongs with its mother.”

Liz nodded, smiling down at her baby. She pulled down the top of her nightdress and he turned to leave.

“Stay” she said quickly. “Stay.” 

He swallowed and nodded, settling into the chair beside the bed as she began to feed their daughter. She looked up at him then, and saw his eyes glistening, his mouth curved into a soft smile as he blinked tears away.

It occurred to her then that she was nourishing not just their child but him too. If she had broken him, she had the power to heal him. Whatever battles were to come, whatever stormy waters, he would navigate them like the sailor he had always been, following the north star that had brought them together until the day he was able to bring his budding family home.


	16. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz has DNA proof that Reddington is her father - her question has finally been answered. But when she discovers footage of them together in the shipping container, everything she thought she knew falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twisty one-shot inspired by the S4 finale.

Reddington strode quickly into the darkened room, unbuttoning his jacket and discarding his hat on a chair as he approached the girl lying unconscious on the bed. Dembe stood behind him, his head bowed while his friend sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently brush a lock of dark hair off Elizabeth’s face.

For a while there was only silence, and the tell-tale sound of Reddington’s breathing, panicked and uneven. Finally, Dembe broke the silence, though his voice was barely above a low murmur.

“I’m sorry Raymond. I do not know how she knew the surveillance footage was at your apartment. By the time I arrived it was too late. I brought her to you - so that you can decide what to do.”

“How much did she see?” Reddington asked, his tone quiet and anguished.

“Enough” Dembe replied gently. “She knows that you were intimate.”

He watched his friend’s shoulders tighten as though the weight he bore had increased tenfold.

“What she must think of me” Reddington breathed wretchedly. “In her darkest nightmares, this… depravity…”

He pulled back sharply as she stirred on the bed, her fingers curling around the pillow beside her cheek and her eyelids fluttering.

“She will be awake soon. You need to make a decision” Dembe urged. “Should I call Dr Orchard?”

“No” Reddington said quietly, shaking his head. “She’s had enough memories stolen from her.”

“Then you will tell her?” Dembe pressed.

Reddington ran his hand over his mouth, the tension in his face palpable. “Leave us be, my friend.”

Dembe turned to go, and then paused. “Raymond - it is the right thing to do” he said sombrely.

Reddington shook his head. “Is it? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

His friend left quietly, and Reddington continued to stare at Elizabeth’s face, her freckled nose wrinkling adorably as she made her way towards consciousness.

As she opened her deep blue eyes he saw an innocence there that took his breath away, a single precious second of freedom before she remembered what had happened.

Her expression crumpled in horror and she cried out, scrambling into a sitting position, her eyes wild and frightened.

“Shh, shh, you’re safe sweetheart” he soothed, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

She blinked and tears began to well between her dark lashes.

“What have you done?” she whispered, choking on the horror of it.

“I’m so sorry you had to find out this way” he said softly, his expression pained.

“The footage. We were together” she breathed shakily. “We... You’re my _father-_ ”

“ _No_ ” he said emphatically. “I have never lied to you, Elizabeth. And I am telling you, as I have always done, your father is dead.”

She shook her head, her teeth sinking painfully into her lip. “I saw the proof. Your DNA – they still have the evidence. Raymond Reddington the _spy_ was captured and tortured overseas” she finished bitterly.

“Yes” Reddington responded, swallowing hard. “He was.”

She frowned, her eyes scanning his face, her hands still gripping the bed cover. “What are you saying?”

There was a heavy silence as Reddington canted his head to the side, his blue-gray eyes searching hers, as though making a silent plea for her to understand the truth he couldn’t speak out loud.

She shook her head and looked away, her hands trembling as the implications of what he was saying hit her. “No” she whispered tightly, quickly brushing tears from her cheek with her fingers. “It’s impossible. You _are_ him.”

Reddington exhaled heavily. “Elizabeth, look at me. You don’t need me to answer this question. You can believe me capable of the most despicable act…Of seducing my own daughter” he said, his lip twitching in distaste. “Or you can _trust me_.”

She turned her shimmering eyes towards him then, her forehead furrowed in confusion. “If you didn’t do anything wrong then why take away my memory of it? This was it, wasn’t it? The memory that Dr Krilov erased two years ago?”

Reddington closed his eyes for a moment, deep creases appearing around his lids.

“Did I not want to be with you?” she whispered slowly, her lip trembling. “Did you… hurt me? Is that why you don’t want me to remember?”

She glanced at him nervously, and seeing a look of wretched anguish on his face, instantly regretted her question. She looked away again quickly, and he rose stiffly from the bed and walked across the room.

For a moment she thought he would leave, but he retrieved a thumb drive from a table in the room and returned to hand it to her.

“What’s that?” she asked, unable to meet his eye.

“The footage from the shipping container” he said quietly. “There are surveillance cameras covering all of my safe houses, though I never thought I’d need to use it for this. I can assure you our encounter was entirely consensual. Watch the rest. It can at least set your mind at ease on that score” he said tightly, his bottom lip curled inward as though he were holding back a wall of emotion.

She made no move to take it, and his hand dropped limply to his side.

“I hired Krilov once when you were a child. Never again. Someone desperately wanted you to forget what we shared, but it wasn’t me. In twenty-five years… It was the first moment of peace I’ve known” he said, his voice trembling.

She looked at him, her lips parted in wonder as he continued.

“At first I was baffled by your behavior, but it didn’t take me long to recognise the signs. Your memories had been taken from you. And as much as I desired… I would have given almost anything to return them to you… I realised that you were safer not knowing. And all I have wanted… Everything I have done has been to keep you safe” he said, swallowing. “You…and Agnes.”

Her eyes widened. “Agnes” she repeated slowly.

“Yeah” he breathed, watching her face carefully.

She closed her eyes then, fresh tears slipping from between her lashes. She covered her face for a moment, and then looked up at him, nodding in silent understanding.

He offered her a pained smile which she returned, her chin still crumpled with grief.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asked him quietly. “Who are you supposed to be to me? To us?”

Reddington sighed, and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed again. He reached for her hand, pausing an inch from her fingers, until her hand crept into his.

“Elizabeth, from now until the day I die, I will be whoever you need me to be.”

She stared at his face, and nodded slowly as she saw the resolve there, as though their pact was sealed. Leaning forward, she curled into him and he closed his arms around her gently, pressing a chaste kiss onto her temple.

She closed her eyes as his lips touched her skin, and thought then that some things were simply beyond good or evil, family or romance… That when these things were stripped away, there was only love – and that was what he was to her.


End file.
